


Thinking To Some Purpose

by mydogwatson



Series: PostcardTales III [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sherlock hates pubs, sherlock POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9629840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: Poor Sherlock is not really the sociable type.  John really is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to those who left comments/kudos on the first story of this series.
> 
> This is one of those titles that is not especially inspiring, I admit. But after a walk from Russell Square to Piccadilly Circus [with a stop to browse at Foyle's and another for a hot chocolate] I came up with this idea and I rather like the result. Hope you do, as well!

[Sub-title: A manual of first aid to clear thinking, how to detect illogicalities in other people’s mental processes and how to avoid them in our own.]

 

He had never really seen the point of it.

‘It’ being the spending of time in a pub without the motive of a case to be solved. Pubs, he freely admitted, could sometimes be very useful for the work. Otherwise, he had no interest in forcing himself into all the phony socialisation.. Especially when being in this temple of alcohol and annoyance meant spending far too much time in the company of Lestrade and several even bigger idiots from the Yard.

Apparently, however, all it took was a look from his annoying flatmate [friend?] and a soft wish that Sherlock would come along for the evening to make him break the habit of a lifetime.

But only thirty minutes in, it all seemed like a massive mistake.

People behaved [even more than usually] stupidly when they drank. They thought even less than normal, which was already little enough on a good day. Or, really, they didn’t think at all.

As an example: John Watson.

For the last ten minutes or maybe an hour he had been leaning against the bar chatting [ _chatting_ ] with the woman serving the drinks. Did he want to, what was that horrid phrase, get a leg over? It seemed likely. She had exaggerated mammary glands, which always seemed to appeal to John.

Sherlock took another small sip of the lager he’d been working on since their arrival, realising that he had just devoted far too much of his life to thinking about that woman. And John. It was ridiculous, really, the way people behaved.

Thank goodness he was above all of that.

Was that woman actually touching John?

For a moment, Sherlock seriously considered stalking over to the bar and…well, what? Telling that woman with the enormous breasts to leave her hands off John Watson? Then he considered what John’s reaction to that would be.

Pubs. He hated them.

Hated what the atmosphere did to even someone like John, who was definitely above the usual run of idiots. They [he and John, the only ‘they’ that really mattered] could be doing something much more important right now. Like ridding London of yet another killer. Or observing the toes that were marinating so nicely on their table. 

Or even just sitting together on the sofa drinking tea and arguing over crap telly.

Now John was laughing with that woman. As an employee, she clearly left a lot to be desired. Shouldn’t she be serving other patrons instead of simply drooling over the soldier/doctor? Perhaps a testy email to those in charge of this pub would be in order. He made a mental note on that.

John usually laughed most when he was with Sherlock; didn’t the idiot realise that?

Sherlock sipped the lager again and studied how the light in the pub seemed to make John’s hair glow even more than usual. Briefly, he wondered if such a thing could be quantified. Then he wondered why he was even thinking about something like that. 

Finally, Sherlock realised that he was starting to get angry. Why was he even here, wasting a whole evening of his life watching his friend try to seduce that harridan?

One corner of his mind niggled with an unwelcome thought.

Seduction.

Once, a long time ago, Sherlock Holmes had made an enquiry on the subject. Two weeks of seducing. Well, to a point anyway. Seven different subjects, not one of whom had responded very well when he thanked them politely for participating and left without so much as a kiss. After that careful experiment, Seduction had been confined to the attic.

And it had no business sneaking back out now.

He began reciting the table of elements backwards. In Greek.

The exercise kept him so busy that he didn’t even realise that John had returned and was sitting across from him again. “No luck with the hussy?” Sherlock said snidely, before his mind could remind him that John never reacted well to remarks like that.

Half a bloody lager and Sherlock Holmes was as big an idiot as everybody else in here.

Pubs. He really did hate them.

Surprisingly, John only smiled at him. “Actually,” he said, “I was wondering if you would mind if we went home now? Think I’ve had enough fun for one night.”

Sherlock only stood and pulled his coat on briskly.

He didn’t speak, in fact, until they were out on the kerb looking for a taxi. “We have fun at home, don’t we?” he asked, raising a hand and summoning a cab out of nowhere.

Apparently, pub stupidity did not dissipate immediately upon exiting the premises.

They climbed into the car, John giving the address, and then they both settled into the black leather seat. “Sometimes,” John said quietly, “I think we have the most fun at home.”

And that gave Sherlock something to think about all the way to Baker Street.

**Author's Note:**

> Title From: Thinking To Some Purpose by L. Susan Stebbing


End file.
